


Space Week

by odiko_ptino



Series: Modern AU [25]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Gen, M/M, Malaina the bunny, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - Freeform, trust is starting to happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 18:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17027415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odiko_ptino/pseuds/odiko_ptino
Summary: During Space Week, Icarus reflects on what the sun gods mean to him.





	Space Week

Thursday:

Space Week is fairly well-promoted within Icarus’ social circles – the planetarium has reduced-price entries and special shows, mainly geared towards kids; and signs and posters line the halls of the Science & Engineering college within his university. On the first day of Space Week, there’s a lecture hosted in one of the auditoriums on campus.

The university has been a little mysterious about who the “special guest” might be, and Icarus is utterly delighted to see that it’s Geoffrey Landis – the famous aeronautical engineer, holder of nine patents in the fields of solar power and photovoltaics, and author of several books of science fiction.  Icarus is so glad he chose to wear a tie.

He probably has a stupid, enthralled expression on his face the entire time.  When Landis finishes speaking, Icarus prays:

_Hermes please please please please please I’m sorry I know you’re probably busy but please please please please would you bring me my book called Asimov’s Science Fiction 2008 please I’ll sacrifice something for you later please_

Hermes delivers the book with a bemused grin during intermission and waves off Icarus’ fervent thanks, saying only that he’ll ‘think of some fun way for Icarus to repay him later’.  This is ominous, but Icarus is too excited to care at the moment.

Almost shaking with nerves, he approaches the scientist author and stammers out a gushing explanation of how cool he thinks he is, and how Icarus wrote a paper analyzing Landis’ technical work in solar arrays, and how he loved  _Iron Angels_  but he got this publication when he was a kid and could Dr. Landis sign it????

Afterwards, when Icarus makes it to his apartment, he opens the book reverently.  Landis signed his name near his poem in the publication – a poem called “Fireflies.”  Icarus reads it again.  The last line stands out:

“Just so, the immortals look out across the universe, as stars and galaxies

Flick into life

Fade into dark.”

… it’s a little more shivery now, knowing what he knows.  

After a moment, he goes to look in the poetry compilation book for another poem: “Five Pounds of Sunlight.”  Landis’ poem compares the weight of five pounds of sunlight – the combined weight of light that touches the earth each second – with the weight of a kitten.  Malaina, the little black bunny that Aphrodite gave him, weighs about five pounds.

Icarus goes to her cage and holds her for a moment, considering.

——————————

Friday:

Icarus goes to the local library to set up a model solar system.  He’s done this plenty of times before, in other places, with greater or lesser degrees of scientific accuracy.  The first model solar system he ever made was when he was six years old. It’s still in a box, in his room – his sister Alessa sent it to him when he moved to this apartment.

He smiles at the librarian, who knows him well by now, and goes to the “learning room” where they usually host these kinds of events.  There’s a few small bookshelves set up to display space-themed books – some science, some adventure.  Icarus spots a copy of the book he’s going to read to the kids tonight.

The solar system is plastic, this time: glow-in-the-dark, with spheres ranging in size from basketball to plum – little Mercury and Pluto.  There’s a representation of the asteroid belt, which is impressive, but no moons other than the earth’s.  Probably for the best.  Jupiter’s alone would keep Icarus occupied for a couple hours.

The sun is, by necessity, the first celestial body to be established in the model.  It’s impossible anymore for Icarus to think of the sun without at least briefly thinking of the two gods that have been a part of his life lately.  He holds the orange sphere for a moment, thinking, _this is those two.  This sun is somehow those two hot guys._

Fucking weird.

He shakes himself out of it and finishes assembling the solar system.  The kids start filtering in around 5pm, and he smiles to see them all clamoring around the space-themed books and displays.  He reads The Magic School Bus Explores the Solar System, and they dim the lights to watch Wall-E.  

As expected, there are divine interlopers: Helios and Apollo can be spotted intermittently throughout the evening, peeking in on the room and pretending not to be nosy about what Icarus is doing.  With a wry sigh, he waves them in after the movie starts, firmly telling them in an undertone that there is to be no PDA in front of the kids.  

Both gods smirk. Icarus raises a warning finger.

“No.  None!  These kids are here to learn about space!”

They both discreetly cop feels during lights out, probably just to make a point.  Icarus allows it, with only a major eyeroll to let them know they’re incorrigible.  Secretly, he’s pleased they’re here.  Something about this being Space Week… well, it all started with them, didn’t it?  

———————————

Saturday:

The planetarium is packed – all day, if the other volunteers are to be believed.  The shows are running nonstop; the side galleries are full of visitors; the hands-on rooms are a chaos of children.

Ironically, Icarus hardly has time to think about space, his entire shift.  He’s too busy refilling brochures and stocking books and gifts and cleaning the auditorium between shows and chasing errant children from corners where they aren’t supposed to be, coaxing them into good behavior with space stickers and erasers he keeps on hand at all times.

On occasion, someone will snag him and ask an actual space question, and Icarus is delighted to answer. The whole surge of enthusiasm pleases him immensely.  

There’s a wall, near the exit, with a small table and stack of celestial shapes – planets and rockets and moons and suns, all cut from construction paper, with markers nearby. The idea is that the visitors will write little notes with their names on them, and stick them on the wall nearby. Most people write their names and maybe a quick “lots of fun!” or maybe something specific they learned.  

At the end of the day, after everyone’s cleared out and Icarus is cleaning the front hall, he pauses by the table, picks up a yellow paper sun.

He can’t think of what to write.  He keeps thinking of the poems, in his book from Dr. Landis.  The only thing that comes to mind is the beginning of a limerick: “there once were two sun gods from Greece…”

In the end, he writes “thank you for the five pounds. I’ll try to return it someday” and sticks it as near he can to the window, where the sun is in fact shining through.

————————————

Sunday:

Leroy and Elverna are enthusiastic about his idea, and the three of them spend the afternoon arranging a few shelves and corners of the flower shop.  There isn’t much of an aesthetic theme tying them together, but Leroy and Elverna have an eye for arrangements and manage to display the eclectic plants in a pleasing way.

The flowers are all space-themed: pink and purple asters; two potted magnolias (star and galaxy); Mars allium; stargazer mercury tiarella; a venus hosta; pale climbing moonflower vines…. And, of course, sunflowers of a number of shades of red and orange and yellow.  

Apollo is beside himself with delight, and insists on sketching Icarus seated among them.

“Your lovely ginger hair is brought out by the warm colors of the flowers,” he says, sketching furiously while Elverna and Leroy gush.

It’s embarrassing, but Icarus is just thankful he was allowed to wear his own clothes this time… instead of being forced into a short chiton, or having to argue about whether nudity was appropriate for the sake of art.

Still, it’s kind of… flattering, in a way, he has to admit.  One of the gods of the sun finds him aesthetically pleasing.  He finds Icarus beautiful, somehow.  Icarus is trying to remind himself of his doubts, of the capriciousness of the gods, but… the idea that Apollo… an artist, and the god of a celestial body… could find him worthy of a work of art…

The sketch is turned into a completed piece and titled “Icarus and the Sunflowers.”  Seems a little on-the-nose to Icarus, but it’s nice.

He still wants to make something for them, in return.

—————————-

Monday:

The apartment smells amazing – the entire space is filled with the scent of strawberries.

Icarus had the idea to dry them in his oven, since a dehydrator was quite expensive.  The first batch turned out pretty good.  Icarus feeds the sliced-off strawberry tops to Malaina the bunny and considers what the right choice would be for the cake element. Shortcake seems obvious, but it can be crumbly, which is a bad idea in a no-gravity space environment.  Maybe angel food cake… and he’ll actually have to figure out some kind of alternate whipped cream.  Perhaps that, and the strawberry juice could be mixed beforehand with some kind of… holding gum.  Icarus is sure he’s heard of something like that.  Or gelatin?

“You could ask Hestia,” Apollo suggests, watching in amusement.  

“Yeah, this is definitely her kinda gig,” Helios agrees.  “Don’t you mortals already have a recipe for strawberry shortcake, though? What are you messing with it for?”

“In space, it’s best to dehydrate things, so they last longer,” Icarus says, popping a slice of dried strawberry into his mouth.  “And better to have food that stays together, rather than crumbling apart.  The crumbs could go anywhere in a zero-gravity environment; maybe into some of the delicate instruments.”

“ _You’re_  a delicate instrument,” Helios mutters.

“You’re making this so you’ll have a snack to bring to space with you?”

There’s a pause after this question.  Apollo and Helios are both grinning at him.  Icarus’ face flushes, and he folds his arms forbiddingly and scowls.  

“Yeah, so what? What’s wrong with wanting a nice dessert in space?”

They’re both laughing at him now, genuinely amused.  “Nothing! Great idea!  Much better than that gross peanut butter gel or whatever. But, I mean… did I miss something? You’re not ready to go to space yet?” Helios asks.  “I don’t see any rockets,

“Doesn’t hurt to prepare. I was going to share, but if you’re going to be a smartass about it…”

Icarus pretends to sniff in disdain as Helios protests.  They do end up eating the strawberries, of course, after a brief scuffle over whether or not the gods were allowed to feed Icarus by hand.

It’s… kind of a gift, he guesses, but the solemnity that he was hoping for was somewhat lacking.

——————

Tuesday:

They’re sitting on the couch together, the three of them, marathoning Deep Space Nine.  They’re watching this because it’s playing nonstop (space-themed show on Space Week), and because Madiya accidentally let it slip one time that Icarus has a crush on “that one guy in Star Trek” and Helios and Apollo have been trying to suss out who it is ever since.  Icarus isn’t sure if they’re doing it to either tease him mercilessly about it; or perhaps find the actor and kick his ass; or maybe both.  But he’s confident they’ll never guess it’s Odo in a thousand years.

In reality, they’re… basically… cuddling.  Icarus’ couch is fairly small.  Apollo is next to him, arm draped over his shoulder, playing with the ends of his hair and smiling when Icarus shivers occasionally.  Helios, not to be outdone, is flopped over, laying across both their laps but mostly Icarus’, and tracing his fingers over Icarus’ knees and poking his belly and holding his hand.

It’s nice.  This is one of their more subdued moments – aside from the occasional good-natured grope or noisy joke about the episode playing – and he’s appreciating the quiet familiarity.  Really, when they dial down on the dramatics, they’re not so bad…

On the screen, Dr. Bashir and Ensign Melora Pazlar are fooling around in a low-gravity scenario. Helios points, abruptly.

“You humans always love that shit, don’t you?”

“Hmm?”  Icarus hasn’t really been paying attention.  Apollo’s fingers are a little distracting.

“Flying around.”

“Oh.  Uh.  Yeah, I… I guess so.”  After all, that’s kind of what Icarus v.1.0 was trying to do… yes, he was trying to reach the sun gods, but even if Icarus can’t *quite* remember that whole sad event, he still thinks that Greek Icarus would have wanted to fly for its own sake. Everyone has that fantasy, don’t they?”

“We could help you,” Helios says, voice suddenly serious.

There’s a pause.

“It would be quite simple. And safe, of course.”  Apollo looks… not anxious, exactly; but not as self-assured as usual.  A tiny bit worried.

“….What…?”

“Like with floating.  Or flying.  I mean, most gods can do it sort of, but it’s easy for me ‘cause I’m the sun. You know, always cruising around in the heavens.”

_You think you want to come up here?  Up here where we are?  All right, boy, show us.  Let’s see._

The flash of a fragment of memory, but it comes and goes, this time; the anxiety replaced by something else.  Something like intrigue.  Icarus looks down at Helios, frowning faintly.

“On your chariot?”

“Nah.  I mean, really floating.  It’s like – I’d wrap my aegis around you.  You know?  It would basically be the same as if I was holding you in my hand, except to you, it’d feel like floating.  I’d make it nice.  Like, soft. Like a blanket, wrapped all around you, holding you in the air.  And no cold wind, I’d make it warm and slow and nice.  We could go anywhere.”

“Helios is extremely natural and accomplished at it,” Apollo says, voice softer than usual.  He’s complimenting Helios, which is… rare.  It feels solemn.  “I would go along too, though.  To be an anchor for you.  I’d hold you too.  Safe and held in our aeges.  We could even stay near the ground if that’s better.”

Icarus is trying to picture it.  Helios and Apollo, bright and shining, really the sun gods he’d always wanted to reach. Their mysterious aeges, enveloping him in warmth and holding him up, in the air, close to them…

He realizes he’s blushing. The sun gods are watching him intently, small smiles on their faces.  

Icarus ducks his head, clears his throat, and stares resolutely at the TV.  “L-let… let me think about it,” he manages.  

The sun gods murmur acquiescence and don’t say anything further, but the smiles stay.

———————

Wednesday:

University library volunteer day.  Several hours when he’s free to research.  By the time he goes home, he has a binder ready.  He’s not a poems/painting kind of guy, after all; he’s a nerd, and binders are what he does wel.

This binder contains a compilation of facts about the sun, pulled from his spontaneous lectures at the library and planetarium.  There’s illustrations, charts and math.  That’s one tab.

There’s also a few photocopies of some of the kid’s space books he loved when he was a kid.  That’s another tab.

Second-to-last tab: the poems of Dr. Landis.  At least, the ones that reminded him of the gods.

Final tab: he’s retrieved his paper sun from the planetarium.  The one that says “thanks for the five pounds.”

Below it, on a paper rocket, he’s carefully printed the words “yes, let’s try it.”


End file.
